Sherborne… frequently proclaimed an ‘historic abbey town’, there is no detracting from the fact that Sherborne is less than 5 miles away from the **** capital, Yeovil. Access by the A30 is frequented by many a **** in their recently acquired escort XR3i, Astra GSi16v and the odd RS turbo.
To the untamed eye, Sherborne is a quiet peaceful town, but underneath it is a festering wound in the side of society, populated by old people and *****. Unfortunately there is little go-between. They are everywhere – appearing most prominently on saturday nights where they visit the local fuelling stations, namely the Cross Keys and the Plume of Feathers, the George, The White Hart and not forgetting, the Mermaid. All equally dreadful, the Cross Keys taking the biscuit in that department. Unfortunately for the inhabitants of this ghastly hole, the town is used as a prelude to the ********** Yeovil and its equally ****** nightlife. As aforemetiond in the ‘Yeovil’ post, the ***** like to taste the excuisite Yeovil party scene… Le Jardin, The Lounge and Flicks ‘wine bar’.
I would be suprised if the ***** and their female counterparts would know the difference between wine and a bottle of White Lightning… but needless to say they try, fail, and roll out onto the streets and suspecting locals at 2am. Next is the Kebab house, a ride via Beaver cabs back to Sherborne where they awake the next morning, either in a ditch or someone elses house, blissfully unaware of the antics of the previous night. Not that it mattered, as both towns are only worthy of drain status and have Police are more interested in catching pot smokers in Pageant Gardens than any other law-enforcing activities in which they should be involved.
Back to Sherborne… the place is boring, dead, and has 2 public schools harbouring the most stuck-up, arrogant and not to mention naive people the South has ever seen. For this reason they blend with the ***** like oil and water.
Many of the prospective ***** originate from the Gryphon local comp. It turns them out by the hundreds each year to roam the very limited streets of this sorry town. They find employment, or not, at the local Sainsburys, Somerfield or Hunts frozen foods. The chances are that is where they will remain untill they grace the town with the presence of **** sprogs, which later feed the Gryphon with more talent ready for expulsion, literally and metaphorically, into the ravenous jaws of the local economy (more likely for their benefit than ours).
The ***** like to spend a lot of time doing very little. Selling drugs, buying cheap hot-hatch cars and sitting in the Cross Keys. If you visit this town, which I strongly do not recommend) you will see ***** born here (in the Yeatman hospital – now declared unsafe for any person under 75) live here, work here, have disgusting little ***** for children, claim all the benefits they can, a free house and money for their offspring, get old and ill, die and get buried in the cemetery. All of this having never left this town. And the most amusing thing is… they think it is OK, perfectly acceptable and the ‘done thing’. Its sad, but at the same time funny and easy to be rest assured that things will never change and that is what separates us from them. They, quite literally, have no ******* idea.
The Police are ******* useless, the shops are ****, the historic buildings are, well, boring… 80% of inhabitants are ******* ****** useless twats and there are very strong links with Yeovil, the pit of the SouthWest. If I were you I would stay away, this dump has a nasty tendancy to hang on to those it entails in its quagmire of what does not so-closely-resemble hell.
Sherborne, a hideously deranged town that looks great from afar
I had the misfortune of visiting Boscombe
Boscombe & Southbourne in Bournemouth, my advice is stay away!
Bridport: historic **** town
Weymouth: Every day is like Sunday
Bournemouth, quite possibly the biggest lie ever conceived.
Poole “it’s a beautiful place”, yeah right!!!!!!
Sunny, Sunny Bournemouth, it’s more like crappy, crappy Bournemouth
Isle of Portland – Where hope goes to die